Thursday, February 7, 2013

On and off, for the past thirteen years, I have been working in strip clubs. I started out as the guy who monitors the couch room, then moved on to door man, barback, DJ, limo driver, etc. Basically, I've done every job that somebody with dangly parts can do in a gentlemen's club.

Last night, while working at the club, a stripper came up to me saying she has to leave because her roommate just called and said her dog ate all of her pot brownies.

(I'm guessing she doesn't know they're illegal in this state, and that conversations about said matters require a bit of discretion ... or at least the use of an inside voice)

My first thought was, "Dogs and chocolate are a bad mix." To which she told me, "They weren't chocolate. My kids are allergic to chocolate. I make vanilla pot brownies so when they sneak into my stash, I know I did the responsible thing by not making them chocolate."

As a professional, I kept a straight face. However, I lost it when she said, "I don't need this stress right now." When I asked why, she informed me that she is pregnant ... with twins ... which will be her fourth and fifth children. Oh yeah, and she's 23 years old.

Every time I think I've heard it all, and have become completely desensitized, one of my little angels drops a bomb the world hasn't seen since the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Japan.

What is truly amazing about it is the fact that they do it so nonchalantly. The same "meh, whatever" tone in their voice that is used to discuss doing laundry would also be present when recalling the time they were gang-fucked by four fireman and a trained circus bear.

I think that's how they catch me off guard. Sneaky little buggers, they are.